


The Arrangement

by avintagekiss24



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Atlanta, Black Character(s), Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes's Plums, Drama, F/M, Female Character of Color, Kings & Queens, Modern Royalty, Royalty, Some Humor, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avintagekiss24/pseuds/avintagekiss24
Summary: The United States has three distinct factions, The North, The South, and The West. War has broken out once again, and the only way to stop it, is for the King of The North and the impending Queen of The South to come together.





	The Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, I've never really written anything steampunk before and I hope I didn't totally mess it up, lol. Just for a little background, the year is 2019 and most of our modern technology is available, but the attire, and state of the country is 1800s.  
> Fill #3 for Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019  
> Square B4 - Royalty

You roll your eyes as you stand at the end of your bed, hands clasped around the bed post as your mother tightens your corset rather violently. Your attitude has been horrendous since your mother had first enlightened you to this deal that was struck, but today, you are unmanageable. You swore, you screamed, you cried… this isn’t what you wanted for yourself. You had even tried to run, but of course, the servants tipped off your mother and sister, who dragged you back into the mansion, up into your room, and have been giving you quite the tongue lashing ever since.

 

“I swear, I don’t know what gets into you!” Your mother mumbles as she pulls harshly on the strings of your lace corset.

 

“She doesn’t deserve it mother, I’ve tried to tell you.” Your sister spouts from her spot on the bed.

 

“Hush!”

 

You smirk at the younger brat you call sister as your body jerks from your mother’s heavy handed motions behind you, “You will be Queen one day, do you get that?”

 

“Of course I do!” You nearly scream, “I’ve been trained my whole life,  _ mother- _ ”

 

“Don’t you take that tone with me!”

 

“Why do I have to do this?” You whine.

 

Your mother takes a breath, “This is your lot in life, baby. Being Queen doesn’t mean just sitting around and eating grapes.This job has responsibility.”

 

You whirl around to face her, your eyes puffy and red, your cheeks stained with the emotion that leaks from your eyes, “And this is my responsibility? Being auctioned off like some cow!”

 

“Avinnia-”

 

“No! I can rule on my own! You did, before you met daddy, I can do that same!”

 

“It isn’t about that! We have to end this war and this is the only way that I can see that happening!”

 

“By marrying the King of The North? Against my will, at that!”

 

“Yes!” Your mother hisses, “We’ve been working very hard and for a very long time to reach an agreement. You have to understand Avinnia, this is bigger than you. This marriage, your reign as King and Queen could bring the United States back together, once and for all.” She shakes her head slightly, reaching out to cup your face, “The two of you could be the most prolific leaders of this country.”

 

You lower your head as her words fall over you, “I can be prolific on my own.”

 

Your mother smiles a toothless smile. She loves you dearly, your strength and defiance the most, “You  _ are  _ prolific, darling. Just because your marrying, doesn’t mean you’re losing who you are.”

 

You are Avinnia Monroe. First born daughter of Queen Angela Abrams-Monroe. You are reining princess, and soon to be Queen of The South. The United States had been fractured for years, long before you were born. Hard lines were drawn in the sand; neither side could come to an agreement. So, they agreed to disagree. Democracy fell soon after, and war, death, famine, rippled through the country for years. The States then split into three separate entities - The North, The South, and The West. Each faction elected their own leaders, their own parliaments, wrote their own laws. After years of negotiations, the three factions finally came to an agreement to cease fire, to live amicably, but there has been unrest in The West, and they rose some four years ago, and war fell upon the country again. They only way to stop it is for The North and The South to join forces. The only way for that to happen? An arranged marriage between the King of The North, and the impending Queen of The South.

 

“You know,” Your mother's voice is softer now, “He isn’t that thrilled about marrying you, either.” You huff, rolling your eyes as you exhale deeply, “He was just as against it as you were when his father, god rest his soul, proposed the idea.”

 

“Well he should be thrilled.” You spit, “He’s marrying a graceful woman of manners. What do I get in return? A rude, foul mouthed  _ New Yorker _ .” You grimace at the words. 

 

Your mother laughs lightly. She wishes there was another way, she really does. Your spirit is one to be reckoned with, and she doesn’t want it stifled. “I know you don’t want this, baby.”

 

You close your eyes, taking another deep breath, “But, this is bigger than me.”

 

“Just think,” Your mother whispers, “You could end up being happy.”

 

You let out an exhausted breath, “I don’t  _ know  _ him. How could I possibly end up happy?”

 

She drops her eyes, your words pulling at her heart strings, “If you end this war, force the Wilsons' out of power in The West, you’ll rule this whole land, my girl.” Her voice is soft, “You’ll be a better Queen than I ever was.”

 

You bring your big brown eyes up to meet hers, “I still don’t want to do it.” You whisper, “I want my own life. My own legacy.”

 

“Then let me marry him.” Your sister chirps again, “I won’t turn down a chance to be Queen of the entire United States.”

 

“Shut up Serena!” You growl, whipping back to face her.

 

“You’re being a brat.”

 

“Why don’t you talk to me when you’re being sold off to a man you don’t even know. Oh wait, you’ll never know how that feels,  _ second born _ . People don’t even know your name.”

 

“Girls! Stop it.”

 

Serena stands, fixing her light pink Victorian dress, before she steps toward you. You stare at each other, neither one giving way as you raise an eyebrow when a knock comes at the door. Natasha peeks in first, with Wanda and Shuri in tow. Your face lights up as Serena scoffs in disgust, pushing past your three very best friends. 

 

“We could hear you screaming from the street, your highness!” Shuri laughs, throwing a curtsy your way. 

 

“Shuri!” You hold out your arms, wrapping them around her as she falls into you, “You came all the way from Wakanda just to see me?”

 

“Of course! I can’t let my pen pal go through this trying time alone! I mean, the horror that I felt when you told me you’d be marrying a king!” She quips as she pretends to be shocked and horrified.

 

“Oh, don’t you start.” You smile while tutting at her.

 

“Girls, please help my daughter get dressed. The King of The North will be here within the hour.” Your mother leans in and pecks your cheek before making her leave. 

 

“Still upset?” Natasha asks as her pale yellow dressed drags along the floor behind her, her perfect red curls framing her face.

 

“Wouldn’t you be?”

 

She smiles softly, “It’s not so bad. We’ll be with you every step of the way. Plus, it’s not like you have to marry him  _ today _ .” She laughs a little, poking you in your ribs, “It’s just a first meeting is all.”

 

“Plus,” Wanda says, pushing her phone in your face, “King Barnes is a dream. Look at him!”

 

You take the phone from her, your eyes drifting along the screen over the handsome King James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. You quirk your lip, sending your eyebrows toward the ceiling before handing the mobile phone back to your friend, “It’s not about looks, Wanda.”

 

“Honestly though, it should be, because  _ damn _ .” She quips. 

 

The four of you lose time as they push you into your red satin, lace trimmed ball gown. Wanda works on pinning up your naturally curly, course, black hair as Shuri and Natasha powder your face, applying lipstick and eyeliner. Shuri pats at the tops of your breasts and cleavage with the small white brush, adding a little powder. 

 

You swat at her hands, giggling all the while, “Will you stop it?”

 

She shrugs, “If you’re going to put them on display, you should make them pretty.”

 

A knock comes at the door, alerting the four of you. William, one of the many hands on the property, clears his throat before speaking through the door, “Your highness, your presence has been requested down on the veranda.”

 

Your heart flutters in your chest, butterflies fluttering through your veins. You let out a breath as you place your hand on your stomach, “He’s here?”

 

“Indeed, your highness.”

 

“Shit.”

 

Your friends begin showering you with compliments, poking and prodding at you and your dress as you move toward the door. William opens the door and you move out into the long hallway, your heels clicking against the marble floors. Shuri, Natasha, and Wanda escort you down the long winding staircase, Shuri pushing the material of your dress out as it falls against the steps behind you. You stop at the french doors that lead toward the lavish veranda. You blink quickly and furiously as you try to remember to breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. 

 

“You don’t have to marry him today, remember that.” Natasha reminds you.

 

“Yeah,” you scoff, “Just three months from now. Big difference, right?”

 

“Just… be  _ nice _ .”

 

You shoot her a look before pushing through the doors and heading out into the naturally warm Atlanta afternoon. Your mother and father turn to face you, a bright, proud smile covering your mother's face. A third person turns to face you a few seconds later. Your breath hitches in your throat and you falter in your steps just slightly. Google does him absolutely no justice. His jaw is square and tight, dark stubble covering his lower face and chin. His hair is long and loose, slightly wavy, and reaches just to the top of his shoulders. His blue eyes pierce yours underneath the sunlight, almost staring right through you. He’s dressed in his military uniform, the gold buttons of his jacket glinting in the sun, medals hanging from the pockets. Wanda was right -  _ look at him _ . 

 

When you finally reach the threesome, you curtsy slightly to greet him, “King James.”

 

“Princess.” He greets in response, bowing his head slightly, “Call me Bucky, please.”

 

He’s a stern man, you can tell by his slightly frosty demeanor. This arrangement should be  _ lovely _ . And what kind of name is  _ Bucky _ anyway? Only a New Yorker, you swear. You listen in as negotiations and talks of the war soon commence, piping in whenever you could, not only to voice your position but to show King  _ Bucky  _ that you have no intention on just sitting idly by. You are by right a Queen, and you will be involved, whether he finds it appropriate or not. 

 

“We should let you two get to know each other, hmm?” Your mother hums, “We’ll call you both for dinner? Avinnia, why don’t you show him the grounds.”

 

You sigh inwardly but hold out your dainty hand, allowing your reluctant suitor to grasp it. The two of you move silently off of the veranda, pushing out onto the grass as you make your way through the lavish estate. The King keeps his hands clasped behind his back, glancing around the garden. You stop suddenly, turning toward him, catching him slightly off guard. He stops, pursing his lips and squinting his eyes as he waits for you to say something.

 

“I don’t want to marry you.” You state firmly, “I think it’s barbaric. And, I hate New York.”

 

He smiles slowly. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, “Well, I don’t want to marry you either, but we have responsibilities.” He starts walking again, his white gloved hands still placed behind his back, “Georgia is disgustingly hot.”

 

“I’ll take the heat over those nasty winters any day, King James.”

 

“Bucky.” He answers firmly.

 

You roll your eyes again, but move with him, joining his side, “I’m tired of hearing about responsibilities. There has to be another way we can make The West surrender without either one of us having to deal with each other for life.”

 

“You don’t think we’ve been working on a solution? Neither The North nor The South has enough army to take The West one on one. The only way to force our will, is to unite. Unfortunately, marriage is the only option to not cause a rebellion on either side. We’ll have executive power.”

 

You huff again, turning your head away from him. He’s right, you know it, your mother knows it, as much as you want to discount it. You don’t catch him glancing over at you, looking you up and down as the two of you walk slowly. You don’t catch the small smile that paints his face, nor do you realize how intriguing he finds you. He likes your wit and attitude, and all of the mouth that comes with you. You’re winning him over minute by minute. “I know this isn’t ideal,” He says gently after a moment or two, pulling at the glove that covers his left hand, “But we can make this work. We just need to be… open to it.”

 

You turn your attention to him after he speaks and gasp lightly as he reaches out toward the sturdy, old Magnolia tree. His metal fingers bounce the rich sunlight off of them as he plucks a small, pink flower from the branches, keeping his eyes on it, “What happened?” You ask in a whisper, your voice airy.

 

He glances down at his hand, then over at you, “War injury. Almost five years ago now.”

 

“Just your hand?”

 

He shakes his head, “The whole arm.”

 

Your mouth falls open as you can’t take your eyes off of his metal appendage. You reach out unexpectedly, drawing his arm toward you. He watches you as you turn his hand over in yours, your eyes grazing over the impressive craftsmanship of this…  _ thing _ . Most people, most women, become afraid of him once they see it; don’t want him to touch them without him having to assure and reassure that he won’t hurt them. But not you. He likes that. You hold up his hand and flatten yours against it, palm to palm as a small, wondrous smile spreads on your face.

 

“Can you feel that?” Your voice is still in a whisper. Still airy.

 

“Of course.”

 

You are enamored with this discovery. It adds a little intrigue to the King, something you didn’t think was possible. He isn’t so boring after all. “You’re a soldier.”

 

“I was before my father passed. I was a Sergeant.”

 

“Sergeant Barnes.” You repeat softly. You like the ring of that- _Sergeant Barnes_.  


 

You let your fingers curl slightly around his metal digits, taking in the feeling of them against your skin. The metal is slightly cool to touch and, dare you say, soft. Smooth, rather. Just for a moment, you let yourself flash an intimate scene before your eyes.Those metallic fingers grazing over your nipples and breasts. In between your thighs; caressing your forbidden slick folds as he whispers his sweet nothings in your ear from behind.  _ Oh _ . 

 

“So,” You start carefully, “You can tell if a plum is ripe with this, you're saying.”

 

His lips turn upward slightly, quirking into a soft smile, “Indeed I can. I rank among the best in New York when it comes to picking a ripe plum.”

 

He has a slight sense of humor. You like that. “Plums are my favorite.” You add, keeping your eyes steadily on his.

 

“Mine too.”

 

A soft breeze whips around the two of you in that moment, tossing strands of your curly hair into your face. He likes that too. Your hair. He eyes dip down your face and to your chest, skimming along your exposed brown skin as the sun kisses you. You drop your hand and he drops his, but offers you the small, pink flower from the Magnolia. You take it and bring it to your nose, smelling it before lifting your eyes toward his again. You smile slowly. It’s a sly smile, almost mischievous. You’re not quite sure what happened within the last few seconds, but King James- no, King  _ Bucky _ , isn’t so bad.

 

“We can make this work.” He states simply again, his interest in you completely piqued. The air between you has taken a obvious turn from uptight and reluctant, giving him the slightest sliver of hope. 

 

He stares at you with sincerity rolling through his eyes. You let your eyes linger on him for a few seconds before dropping them to the flower still in your hands, “Possibly.”

 

He smiles, but this time it’s a brilliant one. One that puts his perfect white teeth on display. One that reaches his blue eyes, making them sparkle underneath the sunlight. He chuckles and you are oddly proud of yourself. You like making him laugh turns out. He holds out his flesh hand toward you and waits patiently as you contemplate taking it. After a moment, you cross behind him, joining him on his left and take his metal fingers in yours. 

 

He drops his head, smiling to himself as the two of you begin your leisurely stroll again, “Possibly.” He repeats. 


End file.
